


Training

by thewaynecondition



Category: Batman Begins (2005), Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Scene insertion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewaynecondition/pseuds/thewaynecondition
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bane is glad to train The Demon Head's new toy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Training

**Author's Note:**

> //I really like scene insertion and changing the meanings of things by inserting events. Plus I had a bout of League feels so this is a the product.

Bane is glad to train Ras' new toy. Mr. Wayne is a smart man, quick on his feet, dedicated to all of the pursuits on which his eyes fall, driven by darkness but desperate not to be ruled by it. He can see why Ras chose him. The darkness dances on the edge waiting to slip waiting to rule. Ras means to set it free.

They start with stealth. The exasperated click of teeth that announcement is met with only confirms Bane's first thoughts. Bruce is fresh and still eager to fight, to inflict pain on those around him and himself without really knowing how to best do so. That annoyance, however, that small show of defiance from one so used to being given all he wanted is quickly squashed in the wake of frustration. Bane is silent as death in the dark and has pinned Bruce six times already. 

"Mind your surroundings," his voice hisses against the shadows and echoes from all sides.

Bruce snaps to the right swinging just in case the heavy presence he feels pressed against him is more than just his own psyche betraying him. This is Bane's room they're in. Its the largest room in the manor renovated from old dungeons ages ago but there is no mistaking why Ras consigned him there. Train the beast but hide the monster.   
Bruce's fist hits nothing but stale air and he resets his stance before Bane can tackle him. 

"Shall I call out like children in the water? Marco?"

"Shut up."

"Alright,"Bane concedes and Bruce recognizes his mistake immediately. The darkness is flat now without Bane's voice filling the spaces where one shadow melds into another and he can almost make out the shapes of the rooms of the fist coming toward his face.  
Bruce ducks and slides out of reach, a low laugh reaching his ears.

"He is learning!"

"Of course I --!"

The blunt force of a knee strikes his gut and an elbow at his back follows before Bruce hits the ground again wheezing slightly.

"Perhaps I spoke too soon, "Bane says and light floods the room. Bruce winces away from it shutting his eyes until his pupils can adjust. By the time his lashes flutter open Bane is standing over him, watching, waiting for something and Bruce cannot tell what. He rolls to his feet, his hand out to shake Bane's and concede his loss.

"I know I'm not your favorite student," Bruce says after they shake hands, "but I do want to be here. I cannot fail Gotham."

"Every man can fail Mr. Wayne. You will one day. It is in man's nature to fail. You will come against many enemies whose sole purpose is to ensure your failure. But you can prolong your turn at disappointment by being better, faster, smarter. By taking what I have taught you, what Ducard has taught you and using it properly."

"I won't kill anyone. I know that's what this is. But I can't."

"Foolish. Because they will surely try to kill you."

Bruce's face is like a game of chess with a single player. The war with himself so deep and murky Bane cannot begin to know which parts of him are winning and which ones he's destroying. Bruce picks up his shirt rather than answer at all, his features the smooth mask of a mission minded man once more.   
Bane says, "I see," and leads him to the ice where Ra's is waiting.

Later he returns with mildly frostbitten finger tips and Bane watches silently as Barsad scrapes layer after layer of dead skin away before wrapping them in gauze. 

"We've all been dipped,"Barsad says quietly lifting his own hands as evidence, the callouses on his fingers having done nothing but improve his grip on his gun, his shot if such a thing were possible. 

Barsad slid back so that Bane could join their circle and perched a cigarette on his bottom lip for lighting. Bruce watched the flicker of disapproval on Bane's face mold into quiet fondness when Barsad caught him looking, glared, and put the cig out.   
  
"Better?" He asked.

Bane nodded, "Much."

Bruce had seen that before, glances that spoke more words than all of the lessons he was being taught by Ducard. There was more here in this tiny circle than anyone had held for him in ages. Perhaps in that moment he was jealous of them but he wrote it off as studying human behavior when he continued to watch them for the remainder of that night and for the nights to follow. 

Barsad initiates the sex most nights with nothing more than the distinct sound of his boots being toed off at the door somehow falling neatly into place like only military breeds can manage. Bane has no problem indulging his right hand. Sometimes its a reward for coming to bed at all other times its slow and so deep that Bruce has to look away. And other times still...its like they're putting on a show for him. A presumptuous conclusion until one night while he's riding Bane into the floor, Barsad reaches out for Bruce and beckons him forward. How long had they known he was lurking in the shadows? A better question still: How could he be surprised?

So he joins them. Bruce crosses the room on silent feet and drops down beside them, forsaking his name, trading his burden for a kiss that bleeds the same way a legacy does. Bane lays him down but let's Barsad go first and its a mistake to think they'll be gentle with him. Careful--the press of slick lethal fingers to stretch him open--but not gentle--the blunt head of Barsad's cock forcing him to find pleasure as he finds Bruce's prostate and hits his mark again and again and again.

When Bane takes his turn, Bruce realizes that this is a claiming. Bane's hand cups over his hips and drags him down as his thrusts drive forward. They come from separate worlds, the far spectrums of privilege and poverty. Their bodies meet in the middle. Bruce comes and they clean him up, patch up his broken pieces like so many have failed to do. They smooth back the black mess of his hair. They pull up his pants and they put him to bed.

“Can you do what you must?” Bane asks. It’s unfair to present the question to someone blissed out and half asleep but Bruce nods.

Barsad demands, “Out loud,” and Bruce sits up a little with the last of his energy.

“Yes. I’m prepared to do what is necessary.”

In the morning, they leave. And everything goes with them including his promise. Bruce suspects that it was Ducard’s doing, that they have been banished. But they don’t ask him to come, they do not even wait for him to wake and say goodbye. By the time Bruce finds out, they are halfway down the mountain, taking with them only a stranger whose face he’s never seen, the daughter of the demon wrapped in a shawl to stave off the cold and the tears of her father’s betrayal. 

“I’m no executioner.” He says and burns the house to the ground.


End file.
